


Friday I’m in Love

by Marasa



Category: Deadly Class (Comics), Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, Crushes, Cuddling, Flirting, Fluff, Marcus is bi, Multi, Protectiveness, soft, soft boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:05:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Or six times Marcus was chaotically bi and crushed hard on girls and boys alike





	1. Willie

After closing up the comic shop, Willie and Marcus decide to go out to a nearby bar that doesn’t card. 

The air is heavy with weed and cigarette smoke. The drinks are shitty and cheap. It’s perfect after a day of dealing with annoying customers and unpacking boxes. 

“You’re a pretty good artist,” Willie says after bringing up how the little kids that come into the shop are always pestering Marcus for drawings of their favorite heroes.

“Thanks.” Marcus takes a swig of his third beer. “I want to be an artist, I think.” He looks up at Willie. “I’ve never told anyone that.”

“Well I think you have it in you. Your style’s a little on the indie side, and you know how I feel about that indie shit, but I think you might be able to pull it off, Arguello.”

Willie’s presence next to him is broad and comforting, this sort of warmth emanating from his relaxed posture that suggests they’re the only ones that matter to the other right now, like they’re separate from everyone else in this bar. 

The corners of Marcus’ lips twitch upward in a shy smile. His eyes avert to the floor for a second, the back of his neck warm.

“Thanks, man,” he says. “That means a lot to me.”

The intimate atmosphere is only interrupted when Marcus catches a scowl from a man over Willie’s shoulder when he draws his eyes back up. 

“Gonna go take a piss,” Willie says. “You okay here?”

Marcus nods but keeps an eye on the grumbling man until he disappears in the crowd. 

He’s still mostly unfond of socializing with strangers so Marcus keeps to himself while Willie’s gone. He sips on his beer and fiddles with the shorn end of his shirt that is actually Lex’s. 

It smells entirely of Lex: tobacco, everclear, sweat. The rips and holes in it are held together by safety pins. The bottom of the shirt has been cut short to reveal two inches of his stomach.

“Wearing that shit in here.” Marcus turns to the man who he spotted earlier now in front of him. “You and your boyfriend need to leave.”

It’s clear this guy is drunk off his ass but that’s no excuse to be an asshole.

“No, that’s okay,” Marcus says matter of factly. “I’m actually gonna stay right here and ponder quietly as to when you homophobes will grow tired of the whole ‘gay bashing’ thing and just leave people the fuck alone. I really hope it’s soon.”

The man steps up so there’s barely an inch between them. “Get the fuck out.”

Marcus doesn’t back down. “Fuck. You.”

Suddenly, a strong, firm arm slides around his waist and pulls him back. Marcus blinks owlishly where he now stands an inch away from someone’s back, unaware of what’s just happened.

Willie’s so tall. He’s a giant over the offender who is currently looking up and blinking hurriedly in poorly hidden panic. 

“Best you start moving,” Willie says lowly.

Marcus balls a hand in the back of Willie’s shirt and stands on the tips of his toes to peek over his shoulder. He smiles smugly at his would-be opponent, because little did the asshole know that picking a fight with him was picking a fight with Willie Lewis.

The other man’s eyes are wide as he stares at the tall man shielding Marcus. They flicker over to Marcus’, the man’s cheeks going red with frustrated embarrassment. 

He looks about ready to yell some choice words at Marcus and Marcus is more than ready to answer back, but then there’s a protective hand on the skin of his waist holding him back. 

Willie stands impossibly taller, cutting off Marcus’ eye contact with the drunk.

“Leave,” Willie growls down at the man. 

The man’s eyes flicker back to Willie’s. He stumbles back, turns and hurries off into the crowd. 

“Fuck you, homophobe!” Marcus shouts with a middle finger thrown his way. Goosebumps erupt down his arms when he feels Willie lightly squeeze his waist.

Willie spins around to look at him once the guy is out of the bar. “I leave for two minutes-“

“He was talking shit,” Marcus says.

“That doesn’t mean you have to fight him. You can walk away, come find me. That guy could’ve had a knife or a gun, Marcus. I don’t want you getting unnecessarily hurt. It’s not worth it.”

His whole pacifist speech goes mostly unheard as Marcus becomes distracted by Willie’s height. He’s buzzed with alcohol, a little hot in this dive bar and Marcus realizes he might have a thing for taller guys. 

Willie having basically defended him has him feeling flattered and light-headed. 

And little crushes like this are exciting but they’re such a drag because that means constantly noticing little things like the phantom grip on the bare skin of his waist and the way he has to look up when Willie talks to him and how Willie’s cologne smells like a peppermint forest.

“Thank you,” Marcus mumbles, the tips of his ears hot, “for standing up for me.”

Willie breathes an exhale.

“I’ll buy you a beer and we can get out of here?” Marcus offers. “Go back to the comic shop and read some indie shit?”

Willie smiles, laughs, says, “Sounds great.”

They share a smile in the dimly lit hole in the wall and it really does feel empty for as long as they’re sharing eye contact.


	2. Petra

It’s a total mistake that he finds out about it.

Marcus and Petra are at the lunch table, just the two of them because Lex and Billy gave each other the flu. (Apparently it was some sort of inside joke to cough on each other?)

Petra immediately shuts her mouth and looks at him wide-eyed after letting it slip that she’s one of the top students this school year but she doesn’t want to go to the headmaster’s banquet. 

Marcus opens his mouth. Petra raises a finger in warning. 

“You should go,” Marcus says anyway and rightfully receives a french fry thrown at his face. 

He catches it between his teeth, chews, swallows, continues. 

“Think of it as a free meal. Better than this shit.” He gestures down at his lunch tray. It’s supposed to be chicken nuggets. Supposed to be.

“The dress code is formal and I don’t do formal,” Petra says.

“And I get that, but in my opinion, it would suck to miss out on a good meal and a nod from Lin just because I didn’t want to wear a monkey suit.”

Petra sighs, pushes her tray away from her, leans back in her chair.

“Fine,” she says, “but only if you come shopping with me.”

Marcus smiles as he eats another fry. 

That’s how he ends up sitting on the floor outside of a row of dressing rooms with his sketchbook open in his lap. 

He had helped her pick out a few dresses as best he could, not really knowing what he was doing. And it would seem that Petra was dreading every second but occasionally she would hold a dress out and study it carefully with the faintest glint of interest flickering in her eyes. 

She’s been in the dressing room for fifteen minutes. She hasn’t come out yet. Petra hasn’t even really spoke to him, only doing so once to ask if he was still out there, to which Marcus affirmed that he wasn’t going anywhere, not unless she wanted him to.

Marcus continues to wait patiently, understanding that she needs to do this at her own pace.

“Marcus?” Petra’s voice, a little muffled behind the door, is quiet but the degree of uncertainty in her tone is perfectly audible.

“Mhm?”

“Can you, uh, just...come in here?”

Marcus immediately sets aside his things and rises to his feet. He knocks on the door gently. It cracks open. He slips inside with a whispered, “What’s up?”

Before she even has a chance to answer, Marcus’ jaw drops. 

Petra stands before him in a purple dress. It’s simple in its design, nothing extraordinary in itself, but it looks stunning on her. 

“Petra, you look so good.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest and averts her gaze to the right. “Shut up.”

He immediately adheres to her wishes and doesn’t mention any more about how beautiful she looks, how that shade of deep violet brings out her eyes, how she inspires an ache in his chest and a flutter in his stomach. 

Petra doesn’t need Marcus to tell her she looks good in something; he knows that. She just needs support when outside of her comfort zone. 

Marcus says nothing but he hopes his face says it. He can see his expression in the body length mirror behind her. 

His face is soft with gentle emotion. His eyebrows are tilted upward as his eyes barely flicker back and forth across her face in search of evidence that she understands what he means. 

When she looks up at him, shy but tender, Marcus’ shoulders relax and his face goes warm. 

“Put one on.”

Marcus blinks, thoroughly caught off guard. “Me?”

Petra’s expression is serious. “Yeah.”

“Okay. What color?”

Petra rolls her eyes, actually smiles. She really doesn’t think he’ll do it. 

But Marcus is already leaving out the dressing room and hurrying back with a dress he hopes is his size.

Petra holds her hand loosely over her eyes as he strips down to his boxers and slides into the mint green dress. The puffy bottom ends at his knees to reveal his hairy calves and socked feet. 

“You don’t look too bad,” Petra says as she looks him up and down. 

“Well I’d hope not,” Marcus says. 

They both turn to look in the mirror. Petra stands in front of him and to the side. She smooths her dress down and readjusts it on her chest, biting the corner of her lip in uncertainty as she does.

“You should get it, Petra,” Marcus says softly, just loud enough for them. “You look amazing.”

Petra fails to hide her small smile as she looks down for a moment. She turns to look up at him, only about three inches between them. 

“That means you gotta get yours too,” she says. 

“I don’t know. Do I really look good?” 

Petra nods so subtly he almost misses it. She reaches out to fiddle with the silk ribbon tied around his waist. Marcus watches with a soft smile, eyes drifting from her slender fingers to her face, and she looks so pretty every day but especially here.

“Then I’ll get it,” he says. 

And on the bus ride back to King’s, Petra tells him she’s allowed a plus one and will pay him $50 to wear the dress to the dinner.

She laughs and leans against Marcus’ shoulder when he tells her he’ll do it for free.


	3. Billy

Billy and Marcus sneak out of King’s on a Friday night with a boombox and a pocket full of drugs.

They climb a grassy hill overlooking the drive-in theater at the edge of town. The movie flickers across the screen not too far below and they tune into the assigned radio station but not before Billy lights the joint he’s brought for them.

They share a cheap beer and a bowl of nachos drenched in fake cheese they picked up from a nearby gas station. It’s pure trash and it’s good as fuck.

_ “Wow, Jamie,”  _ the dashing fellow on screen says, “ _ I wish you’d be my gal!” _

“Wow, Kenny,” Marcus says as he scoops his chip through cheese, “I wish you weren’t such a cunt.”

Billy laughs and Marcus feels boneless and he falls against Billy’s side in a fit of giggles that ends with him biting Billy’s shoulder and Billy biting the top of his ear.

They lay back on the grass together. The ground is cool on Marcus’ skin where the back of his shirt has ridden up. The stars above them are few but bright. 

Marcus reaches up to point lazily at the ones he knows the names of. Billy’s arm joins his in the air. 

Billy waves above Marcus to distract his view of the sky, knocks his elbow clumsily to throw his finger off its trajectory. Finally he rests his open hand on Marcus’ face to shut him up but Marcus continues rambling against his salty fingers about ‘Orion’ this and ‘Ursa Minor’ that.

“Shut uuup, dude,” Billy drones. “You’re killing my high.”

Marcus cackles obnoxiously in a maniacal villain sort of way, Billy’s middle finger falling into his mouth.

“That was my plan all along! Mwahahaha!”

Billy lightly shoves Marcus’ head back and forth, the asshole still laughing annoyingly, before pulling Marcus’ head onto his chest. 

He reaches over and turns the stereo to a college station playing a series of quiet songs come from local bands. They peek at the screen again, those 1950s characters now voiceless as soft lyrics about smoky rooms and falling in love croon on.

“Honey,” Billy says in a dramatic voice the same time the upstanding father opens his mouth to speak, “I’m home! How are the kids?”

“The kids are wonderful, dear,” Marcus sighs dreamily the same time the wife does. “They protested the national anthem at school today and wrote letters to their local congressmen requesting they decriminalize marijuana and legalize gay marriage.”

“How grand!”

The on-screen husband and wife join lips passionately.

Marcus turns to look at Billy.

He can hear his heartbeat in his right ear, the subsequent warmth of Billy’s chest melting through his cheek. 

Marcus strokes the backs of his fingers gently down the buzzed side of Billy’s head. Maybe it’s the weed or the alcohol, but Marcus is pretty sure the velvet of Billy’s hair is the softest thing he’s ever felt. 

His lips part in bliss at the feeling of Billy’s fingers sinking into the curls at the back of his head and scratching lightly down his neck. 

The air blows warm and the moon glows high above as Marcus turns his face to breathe in the musky scent of Billy’s shirt almost as fragrant as burning bud.

Nights like these border on perfection. 

Time seems to stop. Nothing matters except the boy below him: his fingertips, the rise and fall of his chest, his scent settled heavy on Marcus’ tongue. 

A blush sets high on Marcus’ cheeks. Warmth blossoms in his chest. A sigh rises from his flushed lips when Billy’s thumb sweeps gently across his cheek and sometimes Marcus wishes all of this was something more. 

His fingers wind loosely in Billy’s hair, holding him but never too tightly. Marcus’ eyes drift closed as he imagines a myriad of what if’s. 

The couple of screen kisses again.

The song on the radio croons words of midnight and a quiet love. 


	4. Lex

They barely escape.

One moment they were partying at some legacy’s house, the next the police were descending upon them. 

They had gotten the fuck out of there, dodging the law as they threw themselves over the backyard fence and ran down the neighborhood.

They slow once the pulsing police lights are far behind them. A different reflection of soft blue light against the side of a nearby house catches Marcus’ attention. 

He bumps Lex’s shoulder with his own. Lex makes a grunt in question. Marcus does it again.

“Oi,” Lex says, “whatta ya want?”

Marcus stops and nods toward the blue glow.

”Wot?” Lex spits.

Marcus rolls his eyes, grabs Lex’s sleeve and pulls him in the direction of the house.

Revealed behind the backyard gate is a moderately-sized pool illuminated by soft light. 

Marcus sheds his shirt and his jeans, leaving him in the makeshift swimming trunks that are his boxers. Lex shakes himself after a beat of idle staring and does the same. 

Without warning, Marcus pivots on his heels and grabs Lex’s arms, attempting to push him in.

Lex easily counters his attack and spins him before wrapping his arms around Marcus’ torso and lifting him. 

“Can you swim?”

Marcus laughs hysterically as they near the pool, his legs kicking wildly in the air.

“Answer the question, you tosser!” Lex playfully shakes Marcus up and down. His laughs come as sputtered chuckles.

“Yes, yes!” Marcus coughs. “I can swim!”

“See ya.”

Water splashes up in a loud crash as Marcus hits the water. 

The comfortable coolness around him washes the sweat from his body and blocks his hearing in fuzzy silence. 

His feet hit the floor. 

Marcus pushes himself up, launching himself mostly out of the water and grabbing Lex’s arm. 

Lex comes tumbling in after him with a wide-eyed expression and a yelped, “Shit!”

The blue light of the water reflects on their faces as they come up for air. They’re smiling, splashing each other in lazy retaliation, and if someone were home, they would have come to kick them out already.

“Did that hurt?” Marcus says as they wade together closely.

“What?”

Marcus doesn’t think before reaching out a forefinger and tracing the ink of the skull tattooed on the side of his neck. 

Something shifts in the air at the faint touch.

They’re gravitating toward each other centimeter by centimeter, following the subtle movement of the water and this isn’t the first time Marcus has wanted to be closer to Lex. 

“Yeah,” Lex murmurs, and Marcus can feel the hushed word beneath his fingertip.

“What did it feel like?”

Lex reaches out and barely pinches the skin on the side of Marcus’ neck. A heat rolls across Marcus’ cheeks. Goosebumps erupt down his chest. 

And in the warp of the water, Marcus can see the shadows of ink he didn’t know were there before so he asks, “Did that one hurt? Did that one hurt?” and Lex’s painted fingernails nip at Marcus’ shoulder blades, his earlobe, under his bicep, his waist, his thigh.

And at times like this, Marcus wants, wants, wants.

But surely it is a mistake how they drift even closer together, an accident how Lex’s nose slips under the curve of his jaw for a brief second, a mixup how Marcus sways forward so their temples slide, a pure illusion how his tongue feels hot and how he wants to cool it with the drops of water clinging to Lex’s neck.

Then Lex pinches a little too hard and Marcus splashes him and they’re bursting into laughter as they play-hit and slap and claw, and Marcus jumps up onto Lex’s back and then-

Quiet.

The fight is gone as Marcus hangs on him. Their playfulness sizzles out into something gentle. 

Marcus’ legs wrap around Lex’s waist. His arms wrap a little tighter around his neck. There’s a chilly breeze and Lex bends his legs a bit so the warm blanket of water rises higher up their bodies. 

Lex tilts his head back a little to look at the sky. Marcus exhales against Lex’s shoulder. 

This isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair that his heart races when Lex’s hands slide up and down his calves wrapped around his waist, but it also races when Saya holds his hand or Maria whispers in his ear or Willie towers closely over him.

It’s too confusing sometimes. 

Lex bobs up and down a little in a warning before sinking them underwater. Marcus holds his breath and then holds on tight. 

They sit on the floor of the pool. 

Marcus is hyper-aware of every touch against him: the current of water from a nearby pump against his hip, the fingers weaving between his toes, the scuff of damaged hair against the bridge of his nose. 

He slides the palm of his hand across Lex’s chest and rests it over his heart. 

Marcus smiles and tucks his face into Lex’s neck when when he feels that Lex’s heart is beating fast too.


	5. Saya

They find themselves on the roof sometimes.

And it’s different than when the Rats are on the roof fighting over a board game or cackling as they share a joint. 

Sharing the roof with Saya is quiet. 

They don’t plan to meet each other; it just happens like this. Some days are too hectic and loud and it really is like two planets aligning.

Marcus sits on the edge of the one of the skylights. Says sits beside him. Though close in proximity, they haven’t said a word to the other. 

Today was tough. They shared a physical combat class that kicked both their asses, Marcus’ more than Saya’s. Their ribs hurt and the bruises on their skin were maturing from red to purple.

Times like that makes him regret ever coming to this school. It felt like a constant beat down, almost like he was drowning and those he had come to love were the only ones capable of keeping his head above water. 

Love.

It’s a strong word.

He’s a little afraid to admit to himself that that was what he felt here, right now, with Saya. 

Something mindful fills the air and Marcus’ mind drifts to fantasies of the domestic.

He can imagine eloping with Saya in her convertible at midnight, driving to Las Vegas, getting married by Elvis or Dracula, sharing a joint outside in the parking lot, spending their lovely honeymoon on the filthy Strip and then high-tailing it out of there by the end of the week and going wherever the fuck they want.

Marcus has never been one to buy into such institutions but Saya has him thinking differently.

“You daydream a lot, don’t you?”

Marcus looks up at her, blinks. He smiles. “Yeah, I guess. Pretty much my entire life.”

The city down below them twinkles and shimmers with artificial light. It reflects in their eyes. 

“When I was little,” Marcus says, “I wanted to be a bird. I didn’t understand that I couldn’t, so I would wait for the day I grew wings. I’d dream of flying all the time.”

“Is that what you were doing the night I found you?”

Marcus smirks without any mirth, exhales out of his nose. “Old habits,” he murmurs. 

There’s something sad in the air then. That happens a lot between them. Maria said it was because they brought the worst out in each other and she meant the sad shit, the shit they wish they could forget.

Marcus senses perhaps a regretful tenseness from the girl next to him. He eases her with a hand gently resting atop hers. 

“We all have stupid dreams,” Saya says as she looks down at their hands. “Sometimes I dream that I wasn’t born into this. No stupid expectations, no affiliation, just… free.”

“It sucks being a rat,” Marcus says.

Saya offers her own cliche with a small smile. “The grass is always greener.”

The honesty is nice. It’s real. 

Up here it’s so different.

In school there’s so much to worry about. The appearances, the reputations. It’s all bullshit. 

But up here when they’re alone, there’s no one to impress and there’s no judgment and it’s like the planets have aligned to make it all possible.

It’s magical. 

Marcus wraps an arm around her waist slowly. Saya does not push him away but actually leans into him a little bit, her posture relaxed. He dips his head down to rest against Saya’s shoulder. She leans her forehead against his temple.

The wind blows. Saya brings her hand up to Marcus’ cheek, just to feel him, hold him. 

Marcus considers himself a lifelong dreamer. He probably always will be.

He’ll continue dreaming about sprouting wings and reuniting with his family and living another life, but he thinks he’ll have new dreams too of a domestic life with someone he cares about very much. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tumblr is the bane of my existence. I’ve been trying to make posts all morning but they’re not showing up in the tags so I’ll just make it here lol
> 
> I started an in-character blog for Billy. You can follow it at @rats-of-reality on tumblr. It’s not a formal role playing blog so I won’t be taking prompts but it’ll be a blog run by the character. It’ll give me a chance to write what I consider to be a new kind of fic in the form of text posts. Idk just something a little different than my usual third person thing. It’ll be fun! Give it a follow if you’re interested and thank you always for reading!


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